Smoke Filled Room (Hollstein AU)
by knenok95
Summary: AU based off of Mako's "Smoke Filled Room". I do not own the song, but it is lovely and I figured why not make an AU out of it.
1. Little Dove

I usually only performed Friday nights at The Lustig, a pretty well-known bar in the small college town of Silas, home of Silas University, my Alma-Mater. This weekend, though, the owner talked me into playing Saturday night as well, saying his normal guy couldn't make it and that I was next on his list. I couldn't refuse, nor complain, I was making money while doing what I loved, working an extra night wasn't hurting anybody. Anyway, I needed the stage time for the potential tips. I had a three year old I was supposed to be raising at home. Tonight, I left him with a babysitter, an old college friend that still lived in this godforsaken town. And thank Hermione for that because I didn't trust anyone with the little guy but myself, and that was a stretch.

Saturday night started off like any other night. I was offered a complimentary beer, but declined. I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since the kid came into my life and I didn't plan on starting now. Taking a seat at the piano, a mic set up in front of me, I led the audience through a few well-known songs, ones they'd probably heard on the radio, just slowed down and with my own twist, then I went on to the list of requests from the bar patrons, took a short break, called home to make sure the house wasn't on fire and that the kid was fast asleep, and did a few more requests before I started playing my own music. I started off with a couple slower songs, sped it up a bit towards the end of the night, and just before the DJ came on at 10, I played my newest songs and a few of the crowd's favorites.

It was around 9:45 when my fingers found themselves moving across the baby grand on the stage and the spotlight dimmed, creating a haze in the small room through the cigarette smoke, and I started singing a personal favorite of mine. It was a slower song so when the first notes rang out and it was unfamiliar to the weekend crowd, people paid attention. I was well known to the regulars there and they were always eager to hear new music.

I don't remember when I noticed her or when she noticed me, but when I looked up into the crowd and unexpectedly met her gaze, everything stopped. I stopped singing, I stopped playing the piano, time stopped, my heart felt like it stopped. It probably did. She looked so different, yet I'd recognize her anywhere. Her eyes gave her away. Those honey-brown orbs with little flecks of gold here and there, I could never forget. I'd notice them anywhere. Her hair was darker, she wore red lipstick and dark makeup around her eyes, and her heels made her a couple inches taller, but it was definitely _her_. _Her_ , just more, I don't know, _grown up_.

It must've been almost 10 years since I last saw her and nearly three since I last heard anything about her in the small town gossip. Apparently she was a big shot reporter for some big shot news station in Toronto. Apparently. Because I definitely didn't watch her on the evening news when I could and I definitely didn't google her every now and then just to see how she was doing. She had her dream job. I honestly didn't expect anything less, she got what she wanted because she worked hard for it. She was always like that. Ambitious.

She grew up incredibly well, matured. She was the most beautiful woman in the bar and everyone around her knew it, but somehow she didn't. She was only looking at me, her eyebrows knit together, her head tilted at a slight angle as she watched me watch her, her lips were turned down in a slight frown, all while the index finger of her right hand absentmindedly traced the rim of the half empty glass she was holding.

I was only brought out of my trance when I noticed shock and recognition flit across her features, then hurt, then anger. I couldn't blame her. I felt the same way at first. But then she turned to the bar, placed her drink down, and left. She just left. She didn't turn back around, she didn't acknowledge anyone else in the bar, she just left. So, naturally, I followed her. What else was I supposed to do? She was the one that got away.

Without finishing my set, I got up, nearly knocking over the piano bench in the process, and I ran after her. My legs were on autopilot, my brain uncharacteristically quiet. I ignored the protests from the blur of bodies in the bar and made a beeline for the exit, hoping she didn't get too far. With the cold November air like a smack to the face, came her name across my lips. I shouted her name out into the empty street, once, twice, three times, but she was already gone, a ghost in the night, and I felt my heart grow heavy at the realization that I had let her slip through my fingers yet again. I was alone on the sidewalk in front of the bar, my breath fogging out in large gusts in front of me with every heave of my chest. I probably looked crazed with my windswept hair and the look of panic that was undoubtedly in my eyes.

All of this happened within maybe a minute, but at the time, it felt like an eternity. From the second I looked up and caught her eyes, it felt like the world slowed down just enough for us to notice each other and then the second we did, it sped up so much that it made me dizzy. The second I opened the front door to the bar and stepped out to the empty sidewalks, I felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke on me. It felt like the air had been knocked out of my lungs and I couldn't fucking breathe.

I started second guessing myself. Had I actually seen her? Had she actually been there? Had my overactive imagination made her up? No. She was real. I had to believe she was real. I refused to believe I was seeing ghosts from a past life. A life where we were happy together and in love, where there were no dead brothers or sister-in-laws, no nephews left orphaned after a tragic accident took his parents when he was just six months old, no therapists, no psychologists, no antidepressants with my name on the bottle. She had to be real, at least for my sanity's sake.

That night, I went home and paid Perry for watching Grayson, climbed into bed, pulled out my notebook and a pen, and cried. I never told anyone about that night. No one ever asked.

* * *

I didn't see her again until over a month later, around Christmas. There was snow on the ground and it was cold. This was Canada after all, what did you expect?

Perry was watching Grayson again and I was working another Saturday at The Lustig, going through my normal holiday set until right before the DJ came on. I announced a new song that I had written and finally felt comfortable performing. It was the song I wrote that night, five weeks ago, but I didn't tell the audience that, I just started gliding my fingers across the piano effortlessly. Then I started singing, my eyes closed as I pictured the woman that held my heart, though I doubt she knew it.

 _Isn't it a little late_

 _Shouldn't you fly away_

 _Little dove with cigarettes_

 _Show 'em that you can hold your breath_

 _I heard about a girl_

 _Buried her dolls and lost her curls_

 _Painted on lipstick red_

 _Grew herself up and then she'd_

 _Walk into a smoke filled room_

 _Oh no one could keep their eyes off you_

 _Have a little drink or two_

 _Oh, oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Walk into a smoke filled room_

 _Little black dress and mama's shoes_

 _Isn't it a bit too soon_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Walk into a smoke filled room_

 _Oh I believe love will follow you_

 _Isn't it a bit too soon_

 _Oh, oh how could you be that girl I knew_

I didn't even make it to the second verse before I saw her and stumbled over my words. She was standing front and center in the small crowd that had formed in front of the small stage when I opened my eyes and maybe that was what made me trip up. I hadn't expected to see her again, let alone in this bar, while I was singing the song that I wrote very obviously about her.

She looked torn. She looked like she wanted to throw the drink in her hand in my face, but also like she wanted to take me into the bathroom stall and make me scream her name while she was knuckle deep inside me with two of her fingers. Honestly, I would have let her do whatever she wanted to me as long as she didn't walk out again.

She didn't.

 _Take a step around the room_

 _And every head keeps turning too_

 _Little dove, you fight 'em back_

 _Show em you're so much more than that_

 _I heard about a girl_

 _Buried her dolls and lost her curls_

 _Painted on lipstick red_

 _Grew herself up and then she'd_

 _Walk into a smoke filled room_

 _Oh no one could keep their eyes off you_

 _Have a little drink or two_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Walk into a smoke filled room_

 _Little black dress and mama's shoes_

 _Isn't it a bit too soon_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _How could you be that girl I knew_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Walk into a smoke filled room_

 _Oh I believe love will follow you_

 _Isn't it a bit too soon_

 _Oh, oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew_

I finished the song without breaking eye contact with the brunette from my past. As the crowd erupted into a roaring applause, I muttered a half hearted thank you into the mic and didn't think twice about stepping down from the stage and making my way to the woman I couldn't take my eyes off of. When I finally reached her, there were tears in her eyes and her bottom lip was trembling. The look from earlier was completely gone and in its place was one I didn't recognize. I didn't know what to do. So I shut my mind off and let my body take the lead and I took her face in both of my hands and I kissed her. She didn't kiss me back right away, but when I pulled back, she followed my lips with hers, took a deep breath, and kissed me with so much emotion that I felt it crack my heart open in a way that was painful yet felt like coming home.

When she pulled back I tried to follow, but she stopped me with a hand to my chest. Her forehead was resting against mine and I could feel her breath on my lips, almost teasing. I opened my eyes and she was already watching me, tears streaming down her cheeks, as a name I hadn't heard in nearly a decade was whispered into the air between us.

"Carm" never sounded as sweet as it did coming from her mouth.


	2. Painted on Lipstick Red

Laf made me do it. If anyone asks, it's all Laf's fault. I was doing just fine before that weekend, until they guilted me into going to the bar and pulled out last minute. To be honest though, I should probably be thanking them now instead of bashing them, but at the time, I was livid.

I was in town that weekend more for business than pleasure. Mrs. Cochrane, my old boss, mentor, and journalism professor, called me back to Silas' local newspaper for the week to help train a few fresh-out-of-college hires. She figured since I was from Silas and "made it big" that I could share some insight about _chasing your dreams_ and _never giving up_. I was honestly ecstatic. I got to see a couple of my old college friends on an all expense trip back to my home town and I got to help shape the careers and future lives of kids just as eager to do some good in the world as I was back then. The news station back in Toronto even gave me permission to pick a candidate for an internship, if the new hire was up for it. This trip was a big deal.

That was my mindset on Friday morning when I flew out.

Saturday, I had the night off to gallivant around and do my own thing before meeting the kids on Monday morning. Laf told me there was a new bar in town that I should definitely check out while I was there. Apparently the bar was known for its live performances from local talent. They had bands and individual artists perform on the weekends and comedy and poetry nights during the week. The guy that played on Saturdays was supposed to be incredible. Laf said he did a lot of covers of songs from the 80s and that I should invite my dad. He's a huge _Journey_ fan. Well, I did invite him. He couldn't go, said he was too busy with a new case at work to go out for a night of drinking with his only child. (Passive aggressive undertones intended.) So, I went alone.

Laf ended up having to stay late at the lab at Silas U, working on some bio...thing and Perry was busy doing something else, but they promised to have a proper catch up on Sunday when they were supposed to come over to my dad's for dinner. Kirsch had moved back to his hometown after university when he got a job at his old high school as a coach of some sport with a ball, and Danny was teaching English Lit at some university in Chicago the last I heard, so their company was definitely off the table. I didn't know anyone in this town anymore, not like I used to.

I put myself together as much as I could. I slid into a black dress, put more effort into my makeup, wore lipstick, curled my hair, found an old pair of my mother's heels from the back of my dad's closet. I wasn't looking for a hookup, but if one presented itself, I wasn't going to refuse the chance to play around for a bit. I had been doing that a lot lately. I found it slightly amusing. I would see how far I could get into the night, how many drinks I could get in me, before I actually agreed to go home with some random girl. 99% of the time it was only a quick, one time deal. I never let them touch me. I never got their number. I never saw them again. After they were done, I would gather my clothes, if they had even been taken off, call a cab, or Uber, and leave. That 1% was the time I drank so much that I woke up naked and sore and I _knew_ I let her do things to me that no one had done since my last relationship.

The bar was a lot less crowded than I had anticipated on a Saturday night at nearly 10 o'clock, but maybe that was because this was Silas and I was used to the bars back in Toronto where everyone seemed to stay up until they were kicked out at 2am. Either way, I was tempted to just leave and go home to watch Netflix in my pajamas with a mug of hot chocolate and an unopened box of cookies. Instead, I indulged in Laf's request and had a shot for them and Perry and settled onto a stool at the bar with a glass of whiskey. I never did lose the taste for it after... _someone_ … But that has nothing to do with anything.

I never finished the glass.

I heard her voice first. That low, sultry, husk, almost a growl, almost her bedroom voice, but not quite there yet. It was intoxicating. Even more so than the two shots of tequila and half a glass of whiskey I downed less than five minutes ago. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I hadn't heard that voice in almost 10 years and it was like music to my ears. An unwanted, yet beautiful symphony of chords in the back of a siren's throat. I didn't want to turn around. I didn't want it to be her. I wanted her voice to be another one of my vivid dreams (nightmares). But, that wasn't the case.

I turned around when she started singing a song I had never heard before. She was at the piano on the side of the stage, a single light shining on her porcelain skin. She looked older. You're probably saying, "Yeah, no shit she's older, you haven't seen her in 10 years." Well, that's not what I'm talking about. Of course, she _aged_. The last time I saw her was when she was 18. What I'm talking about, is how she held herself up there. She looked matured, settled. She looked completely content. This was her element. She was happy, she was _living_.

She had on a white, short sleeved t shirt with the sleeves rolled and a vaguely familiar silver chain around her neck, a pair of black jeans _without_ holes (I was just as surprised as you probably are), the cuffs rolled up, and a nice pair of red Oxfords on her feet. She wore her hair in loose curls, cut just above her shoulders. Four of her ten fingers held rings, one on her right thumb, two on the fourth finger of her right hand, one on the index finger of her left hand, and another on her middle finger. I ignored the lack of tanned skin around her ring finger and how that somehow made my heart clench at the sight.

I watched her play in solitude for a split second before she lifted her head to look out over the crowd as she sung. Then our eyes met. Hers went comically wide before she stopped singing, her fingers halted on the piano, and she muttered a single word. Or...more of a name. I don't even think she realized she said it, but the second my name was past her lips, a fire ignited in my chest. Apparently the feelings I spent _years_ trying to bury had no match for seeing those eyes in person. It was too much. My chest ached, my head was spinning, my stomach felt like it fell through the floor, and I could feel tears burning my eyes, but I refused to cry. Not there, at least. So, as calmly as I could, I placed the rest of my drink on the bar and left with my hands clenched into tight fists to hide how badly they were shaking. The second I felt the breeze of the November night on my cheeks, I slipped my heels off and took off down the street, making a sharp left turn at the end of the building and didn't stop. I heard her call my name from the front of the bar, but I ignored her. I ignored her half choked cries in order to hear my own. She was the reason for this. She made her choice. She didn't deserve to miss me.

Before I knew it, I was back on my dad's front porch steps. He wasn't home, thank the celestial beings. I crawled into my childhood bed and I cried myself to sleep that night to the picture of Carmilla's face burned into the back of my eyelids, clutching my old yellow pillow to my chest.

When I woke up the next morning, I peeled my wrinkled dress from my body and showered and pretended nothing happened. Because nothing did happen. I just overreacted. I drank coffee with my dad at the kitchen table while he read the Sunday paper. I went to the local grocery store and picked up some things for the evening. I went over my game plan for the upcoming week. I answered a few emails. I ignored any and all thoughts that had to do with _her_. When Perry and Laf came over for dinner, I put on a brave face and vowed to never cry over that dark haired woman again.

My resolve only lasted until the next time I visited Silas.

* * *

I was off work for the Christmas holiday. My dad stayed home those couple of days too because he said he was sorry for his lack of visits in the past couple of months since his promotion. It was nice to hang out, just the two of us, drinking eggnog in our lame Christmas sweaters. The Saturday before Christmas Eve, he decided to take Laf, Perry, and me out for drinks at The Lustig. Perry had other plans, but Laf agreed to tag along. I didn't want to go, but he was making an effort and he was paying so I threw on something holiday related and some jeans and we left. It was around 9:30 in the evening when I downed my first drink. I didn't plan on getting drunk, but the memories from the last time I was there were still raw. I finished my second drink just after that night's performer began her set and I honestly believed the world had it out for me.

She was dressed in the same black jeans, cuffed at the bottom, and red Oxfords, but instead of a white t shirt, she had on a white button up, buttoned to her neck, with a black vest over the top and a red handkerchief in the pocket that matched her shoes perfectly. She still had that silver chain around her neck and the exact same rings on her four fingers (and I definitely still noticed the lack of the ring on her left ring finger). Something was off, though. Her shoulders were slumped, there were dark circles under her eyes, her smile was forced as she told the audience that she had a new song for them, she looked exhausted. I probably looked similar, though.

Seconds later, I was standing in front of her. She didn't notice me at first and I don't remember willing my legs to move, but they did and when I focused on the words tumbling from her lips, I was frozen. The song she was singing was me. Well, not literally, but the lyrics...she was singing _about_ me.

I didn't know what to think. I was mad at her for using me as the topic of one of the loveliest songs I had ever heard. I was angry that it was _her_ that wrote it. I was shocked, slightly flattered. I was furious that she even had the nerve...to do what? I don't know. The whiskey was starting to have its effect on me.

Our eyes met when she went to look out over the small crowd that had gathered since she took the stage. Much like the last time, she fumbled with her words, but this time, she didn't stop singing. She looked me straight in the eye and she sang the last few lines of the song. Her eyes were dark and her lips were wet from where her tongue slid gently across them just seconds before and she was watching me intently. And I was incredibly turned on. But that might've been the alcohol in my veins.

Half of me wanted to run, to get away from there as fast as I could. To curl up in my bed again and not think about what I had been trying to avoid this entire trip. The other half of me wanted the complete opposite. That was the half that won. I was entranced. I was enthralled. The room could've been in the midst of burning to the damn ground for all I knew, but I wouldn't have been able to take my eyes off of her. She had me reeled in and I didn't fight it.

The song ended with a chorus of cheers from the other patrons of the bar. I barely heard them, or her pathetic attempt at a ' _thank you_ ' to her audience. Her eyes were still locked with mine when she nearly tripped over the piano bench as she stepped down from the stage and right into my space. Only when she grabbed my face with her hands and pressed her lips to mine, did I realize I was crying.

My mind wasn't working right, or it was just too stunned into silence that it wasn't in charge of my body anymore because I kissed her back. The second my body registered what was happening, I chased her lips with mine and I kissed her back with everything that I had. I pulled away after what felt like minutes, but she chased after me. I had to stop her with a hand to her chest. I knew I wouldn't have been able to pull away if she would have pressed her lips to mine again.

Resting my forehead against hers, I let my heart take control of the situation. I let myself say the name that I forced myself to never let past my lips before then. I whispered it into the labored breaths between us as I watched her eyes flutter open to land on mine. She had tears in her eyes and I knew I was crying, but I chose to ignore the tears staining both our cheeks as I reached my hand up to the nape of her neck and I found myself smiling. Maybe it was the way it felt to be touched by her fingertips again and the way they burned my skin, or the way her lips felt pressed up against mine and the sweet fire that erupted in my chest when I felt her tongue on my bottom lip, or the fact that her body was now pressed into mine and how it fit almost perfectly. But I felt her smiling too. A genuine smile.

She didn't look tired anymore.


End file.
